


Tricks Du Jour

by ebbj9891



Series: In Quest Of Something [58]
Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Married Life, Open Marriage, POV Justin Taylor, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-28
Updated: 2014-10-07
Packaged: 2018-02-15 03:53:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2214804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ebbj9891/pseuds/ebbj9891
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After almost a year of marriage, Brian and Justin are enjoying their union their way - that is, defined, but decidedly non-conventional and non-monogamous. Unfortunately, not everyone is as understanding or supportive of their flexible arrangement. When Michael discovers that Brian and Justin are still tricking, he confronts them. The subsequent fallout proves to be damaging and revealing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"There," Brian proclaims, pointing at a guy down below, dancing with abandon in the center of Babylon's dance floor. "He's who we'll be having tonight."

I lean over the balcony and assess the guy. As always, Brian sure knows how to pick them - this guy is deliciously tall, dark, and handsome, rippling with muscles, and gleaming under the flashing lights. He looks like he's slicked with oil; I wonder, momentarily, how soft his skin would feel to touch. It looks temptingly buttery and supple. The sight of him - not to mention the thought of how much fun we could have together - gets my mouth watering. Clearly sensing my approval, Brian nudges me and says, "Let's go get him, Sunshine."

I'm about to follow, but as the track changes and a faster-paced song starts blaring through the club, someone else catches my attention. He's dancing near Brian's pick, writhing gorgeously to the pounding music. He's leaner, taller, and slathered in body glitter, with a beautiful, full mouth and thick, jet-black hair. As he twists, smiling to himself, I catch sight of his ass. I grab Brian's arm urgently. "Not so fast. Check out my guy."

"Your guy? Your guy is my guy."

"No, my guy is  _that_ guy, who is clearly superior to the guy you picked or to any other guy here, for that matter." I smile at Brian and kiss his cheek. "Except for you, of course,  _hubby."_  


Brian elbows me in the ribs. "A: Don't 'hubby' me, you little shit. B: We've already chosen our trick du jour. And C: Look at the arms on my guy. How can you even consider looking at anyone else?"

I glance at Brian's desired trick; it's true, his arms are magnificent. They're perfectly sculpted, firm, and undoubtedly strong. The guy catches me looking and winks at me. Brian grins. "See, he likes you."

My gaze flicks back and forth between Brian's guy and my guy. I'll take ass over arms any day. Once upon a time, I could have counted on Brian to do the same, but he's developed different tastes recently.

"What is with you and arms lately?" I wonder out loud, peering at Brian. "You used to be such an ass man. What happened to you?"

He stares at me with cloying adoration and simpers, "I found the most perfect ass the world had to offer. Now nothing else compares."

"Aww, how sweet," I drawl. He grabs me and yanks me into his arms, hugging me from behind as I laugh.

With his arms coiled around me and his lips brushing against my neck, Brian grinds against my ass and confides in a low growl, "I love a nice pair of arms. Look at those - they're fucking incredible. All I can think about is watching him pin you down with them while he pounds you into the mattress... or what it would be like to tie them to the headboard while I fuck him senseless."

Heat ripples through me. My cock throbs and starts to harden inside my jeans. I very nearly succumb; after all, Arms is pretty hot and I'm sure we could have a good time with him. But Brian has chosen the last three guys we've shared, which strikes me as somewhat unfair. No, I'm not going to accept defeat on this one. It's well and truly my turn to pick a trick, and I know just how I'm going to win him over.

Slowly, I turn around in his arms, and slip my hands into the back pockets of his jeans. Brian's mouth quirks and he leans in, pinning me against the balcony railing. I arch my hips against his, grinding my hardening cock against his. Then, with my eyes glued to his, I lick my lips. Brian's gaze drops and tracks the slick motion of my tongue. This should be a cinch.

Kissing the underside of his jaw, I murmur, "I really think you should reconsider."

Brian makes a soft noise in the back of his throat as my lips track down his neck and across his shoulder. Slightly unsteadily, he asks, "Should I, Sunshine?"

"Mmm-hmm." I press a kiss to his collarbone and move my way back up his neck, kissing slowly and softly until I reach his Adam's apple. Then I stop and murmur, "Look at that guy."

Brian's gaze flicks into the direction of my guy. He looks less than impressed. With a bored sigh, he returns his attention to me. I squeeze his ass and whisper into his neck, "I want to take him back to our hotel, spread him out on the bed, face down, and rim him until he's drenching the sheets with his come."

A flush starts creeping up Brian's face. His eyes darken, sparkling with intensifying lust. I grin at him and continue, "I'll get him nice and ready for you. I'll tongue his gorgeous ass until he's  _begging_ to be fucked. And then, once I've driven him completely wild, I'll pull him onto his hands and knees and let you plow his ass with your big, beautiful cock."

Brian swallows. I'm on the cusp of winning him over, I can feel it. I bite down on his shoulder and continue, "And maybe, if he's as energetic as he seems..."

I glance over the balcony at him. Brian follows suit. My guy is still dancing up a storm, showing no signs of stopping, his body writhing, his inky black hair swishing back and forth. I turn back to Brian and lick my lips again. I enjoy the way he watches me do it ever so hungrily, then conclude, "... maybe I'll let you fuck me while I fuck him. You know how I love having your cock inside me while I'm fucking someone. You know how you love pounding me while I pound someone else. Doesn't he look perfect for that? I think it would be a whole lot of fun."

I punctuate this with a very delicate kiss to the hollow of his throat. Brian groans slightly. As he swoops his head down and nuzzles my neck, I'm sure I've won him over. I know I have. But then Brian lifts his head, grins fiendishly, and purrs, "That's a nice story, Sunshine. You can tell it to Arms on the way to the hotel - get him nice and worked up before we have at him."

Shit. Where did I go wrong? Normally, my dirty talking is second to none. It has won Brian over on numerous occasions. But apparently he has his heart set on Arms and won't be dissuaded. I remove my hands from his pockets, fold my arms over my chest, and scowl at him. "If we take Arms home, this will be the fourth time in a row that you've chosen. How is that fair?"

"I didn't hear you complaining any of the other three times," he retorts. "I especially didn't hear you complaining when the guy from Industry made you come four times in one night."

He _always_ brings this up. I swear, he will not shut up about the guy from Industry. Unluckily for Brian, it's not going to help him this time. Even though he's unlikely to listen, I argue, "I still say the guy I wanted that night would have been more fun. Just like my guy tonight is going to be way more fun than your guy. Plus, my guy is way hotter."

"We may need to get your vision checked - it's clearly deteriorating," Brian snarks, turning me around again so he can press his chest to my back. "How about this: give me Arms, and I'll give you the next four."

Before I can contemplate this very promising offer, Michael appears beside us and asks brightly, "The next four what?"

"I thought you and Ben went home," I say, glancing at my watch. It's kind of late for them to still be hanging around.

"Ben left his jacket behind." Michael lifts his arm, where he's draped Ben's favourite leather jacket. "I thought I'd come back for it and have another drink with you guys. Anyway, what's Brian promising you this time? The next four...?"

"Our next four tricks," I explain, eyeing Arms pensively. "Brian is trying to barter for that guy down there, who is obviously not as hot as my guy. See?"

I point them out to Michael. "Back me up - my guy is the better choice, right?"

"The next  _four,"_ Brian repeats, sweeping his hands up and down my sides. "Come on, Sunshine, you know this is an unprecedentedly sweet deal I'm offering up."

He has a point. He may have an absurd fetish for arms, but he does have a point. Still, my guy keeps looking up at me, and his dancing is clearly geared towards my entertainment now. Time to weigh up my options - this guy, who's incredibly hot, or the next four guys, who could be even hotter. It's not easy with flashing lights and thumping music, but I give it my best shot nonetheless.

My calculations are interrupted by Michael, who, sounding bewildered, asks, "You guys are joking, right?"

I ease out of Brian's arms and turn to face Michael. "Joking about what?" 

Michael doesn't reply immediately; he's preoccupied with watching Brian, who's leaning over the railing, making eyes at Arms. A worried frown forms on Michael's face. "You're not actually thinking about going home with that guy, are you?"

"I told you!" I round on Brian and gloat, "I told you my guy is hotter."

"That's not what I mean," Michael exclaims, gaping at us. "You're married!"

Ah, my favourite part of any trip to Pittsburgh - listening to Michael impose his views on marriage on us, as though all marriages are one and the same. I'm so not up for this again - this insanely tedious, cyclical nonsense he tries to shove down my throat every time I see him. It's like fucking Groundhog Day. Looking at Michael blankly, I ask, "And?"

"You're  _married,"_ Michael repeats adamantly, as though this should make his point crystal clear. I feign ignorance and shrug at him. Eyes wide with horror, Michael tries appealing to Brian by squawking his name.

Miraculously, Brian manages to tear his attention away from his trick's chiseled arms. He's clearly missed the preachy direction the conversation has taken. "What's up?"

"Michael was ever so kindly reminding us that we're married," I impart, trying not to roll my eyes.

Brian peers at me, his brow furrowing. "We are?"

"Yeah," I shrug. "Remember, like, a year ago? You, me, city hall?"

I lift my left hand up and wave it at him. My ring glints as the lights flash around us. 

"It's not ringing any bells," he says, frowning at my hand suspiciously.

Stifling laughter, I prompt, "You were wearing your virgin wool Armani? With that charcoal tie you love?"

Brian smiles dreamily. "Right. Now I remember - I looked amazing."

"You did," I agree, kissing his cheek. "Almost as amazing as him."

I stab my finger in the direction of the guy with the delectable ass. Brian scowls at me and says firmly, "We're taking Arms."

"You shouldn't be taking anyone," Michael protests, staring at us in horror. "You're married!"

"Yeah, we're married, we're not dead," Brian snorts. He returns his attention to Arms, who meets Brian's lustful gaze and smiles enticingly. Brian nudges me. "You, me, Arms, hotel room. Now."

"This is insane!"

Brian scoffs at Michael, then licks his lips at Arms. "Come on, Sunshine. He's the one."

"Justin is supposed to be 'the one'," Michael protests. "How can you still be pursuing other guys?"

Somehow, in the midst of all of Michael's preaching, I've stumbled upon a great idea. I grab Brian's arm. "That's it!"

"What's it?" He asks distractedly, eyes roaming over Arms from head to toe, his sweeping gaze hot and hungry. I tug on his arm again, and this time he looks at me.

Beaming at him, I ask enticingly, "Why are we arguing over which guy to take home when the answer is clearly  _guys_?"

Brian's eyes light up. He grins at me. "Clever boy."

"They both look like they'd be amenable," I point out, nodding in their direction. They seem to have figured out that Brian and I are each interested in one of them and are now dancing together. There's a competitive edge to it, but they're clearly into each other and I doubt it would take much convincing to get them interested in a foursome. Grabbing a handful of Brian's shirt, I suggest, "You go get yours, I'll go get mine. Meet you out front in five?"

Brian grabs me and kisses me, lifting me off my feet momentarily.

"I married a genius," he proclaims, grinning with clear pride. I don't even have to look to know that Michael isn't quite so impressed with my ingenuity.

"Don't give me all the credit, it was Michael who gave me the idea." I smile at Michael sweetly as he sputters. "Thank you, Michael."

"Yeah, thanks Mikey," Brian calls over his shoulder, already off in hot pursuit of Arms. This leaves me and Michael alone. He stares at me, looking one part perplexed and two parts scandalised.

"What are you two _doing_?"

I feel the smile drop from my face. I don't have the time or patience for this right now, so I start for the stairs, brushing past Michael passive-aggressively as I go. The only explanation I afford him is a very brief, very cold retort: "Minding our own fucking business."

*

"I think we need to have a serious discussion about what happened last night," Michael says, gravely serious. It's honestly impressive how solemn he looks, given that it's a sunny Saturday morning and we're all having brunch in the diner, which is filled with happy chatter and Deb's lively laughter. Yet, somehow, Michael manages to look like he's just come from the morgue.

"Do you have any aspirin?" I ask Brian, partly because I'm suffering from a mild hangover, but mostly because I'm hoping it will warn Michael to drop the subject he's insisting on raising.

"I'm all out," Brian says shortly, his tension palpable.

"Here you go, honey," Emmett pipes up, digging through his satchel. "Now, you're not allergic to this one, are you?"

He hands me a bottle. I check the label and shake my head. "That's fine, Em, thanks."

He smiles at me and passes me his glass of water. As I down the aspirin and chase it with a drink, I start to think maybe (just  _maybe)_ Michael has realised I don't want to talk about last night and has decided to drop it.

No such luck. Still looking like he's presiding over a goddamned autopsy, he intones, "What were you two  _doing?"_

"I thought I told you," I snap, unable to stop myself. " _We_ were minding our own business."

Michael scoffs. "You call _that_ minding your own business?" 

Brian stiffens beside me. Ben clears his throat and looks elsewhere - I'm guessing Michael already gave him all the dirty details last night. Everyone else looks between the three of us in confusion. The only person who doesn't look confused is Ted - of everyone here, he probably has the best idea of what Brian and I get up to, and he's totally supportive. Emmett, Blake, and Drew, on the other hand, look less sure of what's going on.

"What's up?" Emmett asks, his gaze darting between me and Michael.

"Nothing," Brian says, the severity of his tone surprising everyone but me. 

"Nothing?" Michael echoes incredulously. "You two picked up two strangers last night! That's worthy of an explanation."

"What would you like us to explain?" I ask, staggered by his nerve.

"Just what in the hell you were doing!"

I'm seriously about to lose my shit with him. I envisage myself throwing myself bodily across the table and slapping the self-righteousness right out of him. Or, maybe, as my mother always encouraged, I could 'use my words'. I can think of some excellent words to use in a situation like this. But before I can do much of anything, Brian places his hand on my knee as if to stop me. I glance at him and he gives me a look that says _I've got this_. Then he smiles at Michael; it's sweet as sugar on the surface, but the surface is wafer-thin, and clearly barely containing a scary amount of rage. "Well, since you caught the opening act, I'll leave that out. Let's get right to the action, shall we?"

He glances at me for approval. I nod and wave my hand, clearing him to proceed. Smiling tightly, Brian slings his arm around my shoulders and gloats, "We had a splendid time. I made a good choice in Arms - he was a very talented young man indeed, especially with that mouth of his. You should have seen him sucking Justin's cock, it was..."

"Spectacular," I supply, kissing Brian's neck.

"Spectacular," he repeats. "I can also attest to the boy's technique. If anyone's interested, he apparently frequents Babylon every Thursday and Friday night."

Michael scoffs with disgust. I feel Brian's tension triple, although I don't hear it as he continues boasting. Seamlessly, he continues, "That said, as talented as Arms did prove himself to be, I will freely admit Justin's selection was much more rewarding."

Grinning at Brian, I remind him, "I told you he would be."

"I have to hand it to you,  _darling,"_ Brian drawls, smirking, "You chose well. He proved most energetic."

"Not to mention flexible," I add, smiling at Ted as he snorts.

Brian hums appreciatively. "And  _very_  eager to please indeed."

"Sounds fabulous," Emmett says brightly, clearly trying to lighten the mood. 

"Oh, he was," I agree. "You know who he reminded me of?"

Brian cocks his head at me. "Let me guess... last year's Mardi Gras. Cowboy gear, rainbow beads."

"You just described ninety seven percent of Mardi Gras," Ted snarks. 

"And one hundred and ten percent of the guys we fucked there," I laugh, nudging Brian. "You're going to have to be more specific."

"You know, the surfer."

"Getting more and more specific there, aren't you, Bri?" Ted teases, much to Blake and Drew's amusement. "A surfer at Mardi Gras? I never!"

While everyone laughs (everyone but Michael, that is), Ted shoots me a quick smile and a conspirational wink. I grin back. As soon as I get the chance, I'm going to hug him for all I'm worth.

Gesturing vaguely, Brian says, "You know, we met him at that place on Flinders."

After a moment of contemplation, recollection strikes. I grab Brian's arm and exclaim, "Oh, I know! The one with the tattoo on his-"

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Michael has, apparently, hit his limit. Not caring that he's sending the mood into freefall, he admonishes, "Stop it!"

"Don't stop," Emmett says, persistently cheerful, "Just  _where_ was this tattoo? And what was it of?"

He waggles his eyebrows at me. I grin at him gratefully. Laughing, Brian starts to paint Emmett a clearer picture, when Michael cuts in. "Don't encourage them, Em. This is ridiculous."

Mirroring the overall mood, the cheer vanishes from Brian's face in an instant. Frostily, he asks, "Is there a problem, Mikey?"

Michael throws his hands up in despair. "Where do I even begin?"

Blake picks up his menu and stares at it, his gaze flicking up slightly as Brian leans in towards Michael menacingly. Michael, foolishly, doesn't back down. This leaves them in a stand-off, with Emmett watching with wide-eyed fascination, Ted keeping his gaze averted, and both Drew and Ben looking extraordinarily uncomfortable. It would mean an awful lot if any one of them would stand up for us, but apparently they're all too chickenshit.

"You two are  _married,"_ Michael says, as though we're naughty children who deserve to be placed in time-out. 

"I didn't realise 'married' was synonymous with 'monogamous'," I snark, narrowing my eyes at him. "Oh, wait - it's not."

"The vows say otherwise!"

"We didn't use the traditional vows," I retort. "So why don't you put that card back in your Stepford deck?"

Brian and Ted both snort, although Ted tries to hide it. Blake, who is often the peacekeeper of the group, gently pipes up and says, "You know, polyamorous - or non-monogamous, in your case - relationships are really quite prevalent. Open marriages are more common than one would think, too. They're quite healthy, in fact, so long as everything's honest, equal, and consensual."

"Thank you, Blake," I say, glaring at Michael. "I, for one, feel perfectly healthy."

Michael rolls his eyes exasperatedly. "Justin, come on. This isn't what you want."

Suddenly, a thought hits me: when was the last time Michael asked me what I wanted? For the last few years, he's assumed that we're destined to move back to Pittsburgh, hole up in some picturesque family-friendly home, and start growing a sizeable brood of miniature Kinney-Taylors. Michael has tailored most of our conversations towards this imaginary goal: _When are you guys moving back here? There are some great places for sale near us! We just met a wonderful couple who are looking to act as surrogates to queer couples._ I search and search, but I can't think of a single instance where he's actually asked what it is that I want.

"This isn't going to make you happy," Michael warns, apparently intent on going full steam ahead with his insipid lecture.

"You know what I want? You know what would make me happy?" I stand up and fish through my pockets. "I want a fucking cigarette. And I want you to shut your self-righteous mouth. Not necessarily in that order, though - feel free to shut the fuck up right now."

"Justin," Brian says, concern ripe in his voice. He starts to say something more but I don't stick around to hear it. I leave the diner as fast as I can and slip into the alleyway, where it's peaceful. I've been trying to quit, I really have, but I keep a couple of emergency cigarettes in my pocket. I haven't touched them in months, but right now, I'm tempted to light both of them up at once. Then again, we still have a week left here, and who knows how long Michael can keep up this crusade? I don't want to burn through my emergency supply all at once, so to speak.

As I'm plucking one out and lighting it, I hear Brian and Michael emerging from the diner. They're still in the midst of a heated debate - so much for peace and quiet.

"I should have known you two couldn't handle this," Michael laments, his voice carrying into the alleyway (and probably right down Liberty Avenue, too). "I mean, you didn't even take the wedding seriously-"

"We didn't have a wedding! We didn't want a wedding. We had a brief legal ceremony, and for the last fucking time, it was for us, not for you." Brian's voice is rough with anger. It would send most people running for the hills, but Michael has known Brian long enough to withstand his temper. 

"Yeah, you made that crystal clear! Thanks for excluding everyone, by the way, it made all of us  _so_ happy."

"Get over it," Brian snaps. "If Jennifer and Molly and Daphne and Gus can get over it, so can you. Especially since I've explained this to you a thousand fucking times. Now, if you'll excuse me-"

"Just where do you think you're going?"

Jesus, what the hell is Michael thinking? He's talking to Brian like Brian is his child or something. What does he think he's going to accomplish? All he's going to do is piss Brian off more.

"I'm going to find Justin," Brian says coldly.

"Why bother? Why not just find some other guy? I mean, it's all the same to you two, right? Justin's probably off fucking some other guy as we speak!"

It takes every ounce of willpower I possess to restrain myself from emerging from the alley to kick Michael's ass. Fortunately, Brian has my back. With no small amount of fury, he retorts, "You don't know what the fuck you're talking about!"

"So clear it up for me! Explain why you even bothered getting married if you're just going to fuck around like  _always."_

I can't see Brian, so I suppose I can't be sure, but I swear I can hear him carefully gathering himself. Icily, he imparts, "Our marriage is exactly that - it's  _ours._ As such, we get to decide what it means to us and how we conduct ourselves. That's it, that's all you need to know. I am not going to defend myself to you."

He must start to walk away; I can hear his footsteps moving closer, hitting the pavement heavily. But then Michael calls out, bringing Brian to a dead halt: "And what exactly are you planning on telling Gus?"

"Don't you dare," warns Brian, his voice steeped with rage, "Bring my son into this."

"Well, have you considered his feelings?"

"What feelings?"

"The feelings he would have if he knew his fathers were fucking other men!" Michael yells. "It would break his heart!"

"Fuck this," Brian snaps. I hear him approaching again and rush to get through the last of my cigarette before he takes it away from me.

But once again, Michael refuses to let things be, and stops Brian in his tracks by calling, "Part of being a good father is not being a selfish asshole."

"I'm selfish? You're dragging my kid into this and putting words in his mouth, and _I'm_ being selfish?" Brian scoffs. Then, in his most patronising tone, he asks, "Have _you_ considered Jenny Rebecca's feelings? Look a few years into the future: maybe she won't appreciate the immaculate Stepford aesthetic you and the professor are constantly striving to present. Maybe she'll want a non-defined, non-conventional relationship."

For once, Michael stays dead silent. I wish I could see the look on his face, but that would mean outing myself and admitting I've been eavesdropping. With a forced sense of calm, Brian says, "Why don't you stop projecting your standards onto my marriage? Just cut it the fuck out. I'm sick of it, Justin's sick of it - it's utterly tedious. We got married for us, not for you, or for anyone else. What we do with it is our business."

"And whichever club boys you pick up," Michael snarks.

"Justin," Brian calls sharply, directly into the alleyway. Shit, he knows I'm here. I extinguish my cigarette and slink out to meet them. Brian raises his eyebrows at me (he clearly knew I was there all along) while Michael's eyes go wide (he clearly didn't). "Do you want to spend all day clogging up your lungs in a filthy alleyway, or do you want to go back to the hotel and pick up the busboy from the other night?"

Michael sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. Honestly, I'd still like another cigarette (or six), but Brian's suggestion is certainly tempting. It's undoubtedly better than suffering through more preaching, which I sense is imminent. Before Michael can launch into another judgmental onslaught, I ask Brian, "Which one? The one that brought us the cocktails, or the one that brought us the wine?"

As though it's the most obvious answer in the world, Brian responds, "Cocktails."

"Wine," I retort, frowning at him. 

" _Cocktails,"_ he insists, looking at me like I've gone insane. "You know what? We'll discuss this on the ride over there. Or on our way to the eye doctor. You clearly need your vision assessed."

Michael folds his arms over his chest, sighs, and gives me one last despairing look. I stare blankly back at him until he finally gives up and retreats back into the diner, no doubt to lament how endangered our marriage is. Hopefully, Ted and Blake can talk some sense into him. Maybe, just maybe, they'll encourage Michael to see reason, while Drew and Ben restore calm and Emmett rustles up some cheer. Maybe Michael will listen and see things our way.

Or maybe our non-conventional marriage will remain foreign to him - an acquired taste he just can't bring himself to see as palatable. I can't say for sure. I do know that, deep down, I don't really care. I love Michael, I always will, but I'm not holding out for his gold seal of approval. Like Brian said, it's not about him. Our marriage is ours, and ours alone.

So, after taking a deep, calming breath, I grab Brian's hand and say, "Let's go and get some rest."

*

And that's exactly what we do. We don't pick up either of the two busboys - although all the way to the hotel, we do indulge in a very spirited debate about which one would have been the better pick for our trick du jour. We pass Cocktails in the lobby and ignore his flirtacious gaze, and simply head upstairs and gravitate towards the bed. Brian collapses into it and presses his face into the clean linens, breathing them in. I strip down and slide between the sheets, finding them refreshingly cool and soft against my skin. Brian kicks off his shoes and takes off his shirt, then moves in close to me. I kiss him softly, comfortingly. I won't ask if he's okay - he probably isn't right now, not completely, but I know he will be soon. We'll sleep, we'll fuck, we'll shower and fuck some more, and then we'll head over to Deb's for dinner and I'm sure Michael will be ready with an apology. This is how their spats always go lately - they fight intensely, take some time apart, and then patch things up once everything's calmer. I'm certain that if the boys haven't already talked Michael into relenting and apologising, Deb will in due time. I touch Brian's arm; at first, I just graze his bicep with my fingertips, but when this brings a smile to his face I settle my palm there and caress gently, until all the tension he's been carrying has drifted away.

"Last night was fun," I whisper, pleased when he grins at me.

"That it was, Sunshine," Brian says, "That it was."

Brian slings an arm around me and tangles our legs together, until almost every inch of us is touching. Seeming most satisfied, he closes his eyes and sighs contentedly. I curl my toes around his ankle and rub them around playfully where I know he's ticklish. He laughs softly and kicks his leg until I let up - for now. There's a lot more where that came from that I'll save for later.

I watch him for a while, scanning the strands of hair falling over his face, the soft swell of his lips, the fine smattering of stubble gathering around his jaw. There's a gentle tug inside my chest, reminding me of how very much I love him. I wish, for a moment, that Michael could see us like this. I wish he could have been there when we talked about our life together and what we wanted for it. Maybe then he'd have some idea of what Brian and I have - it's a lot more than wild nights clubbing and picking up tricks du jour. A _lot_ more. But then again, this is ours, not his, or anyone else's. That's one of the things I love most about our marriage. Plus, Brian's right - we shouldn't have to defend what we have to anyone. We know what we are. Michael may have his doubts, and a whole slew of standards he'd like us to measure up to, but that's his business. This, what we have right here, is ours.

I can feel fatigue setting in. Last night was intense, what with four in the bed and all, and only a scarce few hours of sleep gained after the tricks departed. Brian is drifting off; I can hear his breathing deepening and evening out, and his grip on me grows more relaxed, like it always does when he fades off into sleep. I know he already knows this, but today of all days, I want to be really sure of it. So I go right ahead and state the goddamned obvious: "I love us."

He smiles, his grasp on me tightening a fraction. "I love us too, Sunshine."

With those words lingering happily between us, I close my eyes, bury my face in his chest, and let myself drift off to a very satisfying sleep. There are things left to deal with, that's for sure, but for now they'll simply have to wait.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had originally planned to follow on from the events from this fic with a different story, but today inspiration struck and I decided it might be best to continue it in a second chapter. So here it is! Hope you enjoy it :)

“Come back to bed,” Brian urges, making eyes at me. I’m sorely tempted to - quite literally, actually, since we’ve spent the last three hours fucking. There’s a pleasing ache radiating through me, reminding me of Brian’s touch and how great it felt to be tangled together. But I’ve only just gotten out of bed - I can’t very well just climb back in, especially not when we have somewhere to be. It’s hard to resist with him lying there, sprawled out, partially hidden by the sheets that are draped over him from his hips down. I’m desperate to tear them away, or maybe slip underneath them, and go exploring all of the parts of him that are currently - and tragically, I might add - hidden away.

But then my phone beeps, reminding me of the time. I smile at Brian apologetically. “We’re due at Deb’s in half an hour.”

“You’re due to fuck me right now,” he retorts, a scintillating smirk forming on his face.

Goddamnit. It takes every last ounce of willpower I have to not pounce on him immediately. I muster all the self-restraint I can and try to keep a cool head. Unfortunately, I can’t avoid my voice croaking when I reply, “That normally takes longer than half an hour.”

His smirk stretches into a wolfish grin. “Exactly.”

“Brian-”

“Come on,” Brian urges in a low growl, arching an eyebrow at me. “Come fuck me. Pound me into the mattress.”

My resolve goes into freefall. I think I can count on one hand the number of times Brian has spoken like that. As much as he loves it when I fuck him, he very rarely vocalises it beyond moaning and groaning. Once or twice I’ve gotten him to scream, although he refuses to admit it. The first time I ever heard him beg for it, I came so hard I nearly passed out. As Brian watches me with a smug, lustful gaze, I struggle to think of anything other than how good it would feel to jump back into bed and take him.

Then my phone beeps again.  _Saved by the bell,_ I think as I turn off the alarm. It provides just enough of a distraction that I’m able to break free from my spell of temptation. I take a deep breath and say firmly, ”There’s no time.”

The heated expression falls from his face. Brian’s gaze grows dark and brooding. With all the decisiveness of a full-grown man yet all the petulance of a five-year-old, he says, ”You can do whatever the fuck you want. I’m not going to Deb’s.” 

I go and grab my jeans and start tugging them on. “Why not?”

“Because I’d rather gouge my own eyes out with a cut-throat razor?”

“Ew,” I laugh, squirming at the visual. “Come on, she said she’s making roast lamb. You know Deb’s roast lamb is amazing.”

“If only the company were as pleasing,” Brian muses wistfully. He pins me with a firm look and deadpans, “But since the company is, in fact, utter  _shit_ , I shan’t be going.”

 “You  _shan’t_  be going?”

 “No,” he sniffs, collapsing back into bed. “Send my deepest regrets to Deb and tell her  _delightful_ spawn to go and fuck himself.”

I bide my time before replying. I can feel Brian watching me as I button my shirt; his gaze slips and slides all over me, filling me with want. I ignore it and slip into my cardigan. Finally, I point out gently, “Her ‘delighful spawn’ is also our friend and co-parent.”

Brian sighs in a beleagured fashion, then pairs it with a masterful roll of his eyes. “Co-parent? Yes. Friend? On paper, yes. In practice, no.” 

 “What does that mean?”

Brian heaves another weary sigh and reluctantly sits up so he’s facing me. In doing so he allows the silk sheets to pool around his knees, giving me a very tempting eyeful. Determined to not give in to his lecherous advances, I avert my gaze. Stretching his legs out, he explains lazily, ”It means that Mikey and I may still publicly claim to be friends, but in truth, we’re not. We both know we’re not - we just won’t say it. He won’t say it because he doesn’t want it to be true. I won’t say it because it would incite World War fucking Three.”

I feel that this conversation would pair well with alcohol, so I head to the minibar and pour Brian a drink. I steal a quick sip and then hand it to him. As he swallows a mouthful, I inquire, “Since when have you felt this way?”

Brian swishes the glass back and forth, watching the ice-cubes swirl admist the amber liquid. “Since New York.”

 _Since New York._ I count the years - all six of them - and find I’m in need of another drink. Anticipating this, Brian hands over the glass silently. After taking a comforting sip, I ask, ”And you were going to mention this to me... when?”

“I didn’t need to,” he retorts matter-of-factly. “You knew. Come on, don’t play dumb. You’ve known for a while now. We’ve talked about this, Sunshine.”

Okay, so maybe I have known. In all honesty, although I find this information disturbing, it’s not exactly surprising. There’s been a rift growing between Michael and Brian for years; I’ve seen it, we’ve talked about it, but I honestly thought things had improved between the two of them. Or maybe I was wrong. Maybe things continued deteriorating but I didn’t see it because I haven’t  _wanted_ to see it.

Sadly, I muse, ”Michael was always so important to you.”

“I never said he wasn’t important to me.” Brian raises his eyebrows at me then rearranges himself fluidly, so he’s lying on his stomach in the centre of the bed. “But times have changed. Worry not, Sunshine - I have better friends.”

Raising my eyebrows right back at him, I challenge, “Such as?”

It’s not that I’m trying to play dumb here. The truth is that there is a part of me that is riddled with nostalgia for Brian’s friendship with Michael and how close they used to be. This part of me wants to believe that Brian is still smarting from the fight this morning and acting out accordingly. But then he starts reeling off a list of names with utmost confidence. There’s not a hint of doubt or regret to it; it simply is what it is. “Daphne, Lindsay, Cynthia, Theodore, Jasper, Tristan...”

He pauses briefly, smiles at me, then says quietly, “You.”

I start to melt. All of my instincts are screaming at me to throw myself at him, but there’s no time to act sickeningly lovesick. I do steal a few moments to lean in and kiss him. Brian sighs contentedly against my mouth. As I pull away to continue getting dressed, he concludes, “Friends don’t pull the shit Mikey was pulling this morning.”

I shrug.

Seeming dissatisfied with my lackluster reaction, Brian frowns at me. “Okay, Sunshine, answer me this: what did Daphne say to you when you told her I was moving to New York?”

Laughing out loud, I recall, “She busted my goddamned ear drum screaming down the phone and then she started bragging about how: a) she already knew because you two had been conspiring, like _always,_ and b) that she had told me so. She then forced me to sit through a recital of all the times she was right about us and I was wrong. There were several  _very_ disparaging mentions of a certain fiddler who she so affectionately referred to as ‘Soul Patch’.”

After indulging in some smirking and snickering, he prompts, “And what did she say when you told her we got married?”

I grin at him; he quickly matches it. “She busted my other eardrum - I now have a matching set - and then she said she was happy for us and got all weepy about how romantic it was.”

Brian nods, his smile softening into something very tender. It doesn’t last all that long; as it fades, he says quietly, “When I told Michael I was moving to New York, he said, ‘New York is only a phase, why would you risk everything to indulge it?’. Is New York a phase, Sunshine?”

“No,” I murmur, staring out the window at downtown Pittsburgh, all lit up in a sea of lights. New York was supposed to be a phase, but then I got there and fell in love. When Brian followed, it became home. Hearing it referred to as a ‘phase’ now makes my skin crawl - it feels so wrong to hear it dismissed as though it were some fleeting fancy instead of the second greatest love of my life. “New York is home.”

“I know.” Brian’s smile reappears, but it soon turns thin and bitter. “When I told him that you belonged in New York, he told me not to follow you. He said, ‘You never follow anyone. Why are you forcing yourself to be who he wants you to be?’. I mean, what the fuck is that? Does that sound like something a best friend would say? Would Daphne talk to you like that?”

She sure as shit wouldn’t. As I process all of this, Brian adds sharply, “Need I remind you of what he said when you were with Soul Patch?”

 “No,” I say quickly, as the mere thought of it instantly has me feeling sick to my stomach. On my list of lifelong regrets, about halfway down, is the time I insisted that Brian explain why he punched Michael. When he finally relented and ‘fessed up, I almost burst into tears. It was obvious at the time that it had something to do with me, but I’d never expected to hear Brian repeat the words:  _If you ask me, it wasn’t worth it. You might as well have just left him lying there._ The only thing stopping me from crying was the instant loss of breath and blurred vision. The panic attack only lasted a scarce few moments, but it was brutal nonetheless. I came out of it with Brian holding me, whispering apologies in my ear. All I could think was,  _it’s not you who should be apologising._  After that, it took me a solid week to be able to look at Michael without flinching.

I force the memory as far away as possible and sit down on the edge of the bed so I can start lacing my shoes. My fingers take some time to cooperate and stop trembling; Brian must notice, for he softens a little and asks gently, “You wanna know how Mikey conceptualises our relationship?”

 “How?” I ask, although I’m not sure I really want to know. 

 “He sees it as a fucking house of cards where we each force each other to do things we don’t want to. He thinks you forced me to move to New York and that I don’t really want to be there. He thinks you forced me to get married. He thinks I’m forcing you to fuck other men.” Brian stretches his arm out and touches his hand to my knee. He slides his fingers up my thigh in one long, smooth caress. “And all of that is not for a lack of trying on my part. I’ve tried to get him to see things as they are. It hasn’t made the slightest difference.”

“He cares about us,” I say, partially because I want to remind Brian of Michael’s more redeeming qualities, but mostly because I need it to be true. “That’s what it all comes down to. He cares about us and he’s worried we’re not happy.”

 “And who is the ‘us’ in that scenario?” Brian snorts. “He doesn’t know us as well as he used to. He’s holding on to some idea of who we are. Who we really are... well, he doesn’t have a fucking clue, does he? Or maybe he just doesn’t give a shit. You know, you might love us and I might love us-”

 _“Might?”_  I challenge hotly, raising both eyebrows at him.

He grins and nods in concession. “You love us and I love us, but Mikey doesn’t. At least, not for who we are. We’re not worth shit to him in our current circumstances.”

“I wouldn’t go so far as to say that we’re not worth  _shit_  to him-”

Brian heaves a sigh and interjects, “Believe what you will, but I can promise you that this much is true: we either exist wholly on his terms, or not at all.”

He dips his fingers in towards my inner thigh and says, “The people I feel closest to are those who recognise that the live I’m living is exactly the life I want to lead, and accept it for what it is. Since ‘Mikey’ is seemingly incapable of doing either of those things...”

He pulls away and repositions himself on his back amongst the pillows. As he flops back down into bed, clearly intent on staying put, I scavenge for a solution. I can’t force Brian to come along tonight, nor would I want to. But there are people other than Michael who will be there and who are expecting to see us. Suddenly, my phone buzzes in my pocket - it’s a text from Daph: 

_Switched my shift, are you free tonight? A: Yes, B: Yes, or C: Definitely-absolutely-3000% yes?_

“Daph’s free,” I say, smiling as I respond to her text, happily opting for option C. 

Brian sits up, brightening somewhat. “Good, let’s divide and conquer: you go and make nice with Mikey, I’ll go and make  _very_ nice with Daphne.”

My phone buzzes again. I toss it at Brian so he can read the exchange and say smugly, “She’s coming to Deb’s. Are you in or are you in?”

He scowls at me. “You’re a manipulative little shit, aren’t you?”

“Learned from the master,” I tease, tossing his clothes at him. He tosses the phone back, clearly aiming to hit me with it, but I catch it neatly and tuck it in my pocket. Grinning at him, I laugh, “Come on, get dressed. I know how you hate to keep Daphne waiting.”

*

Once, years ago, I was lumped with the dreaded responsibility of taking Gus to the dentist. This, according to Gus, was ‘the worst betrayal suffered by anyone ever in the history of the universe’. When I finally got him into the car and on the road, he snarled at me the whole way, insisting that a trip to the dentist was equivalent to me shoving a chainsaw down his throat. It was possibly the hardest I’ve had to work at anything ever... until tonight. Gus’ shouting and stomping pales in comparison to Brian’s miserable mood. He ignores me as he gets dressed, sulks all the way down to the car, and glares at me as I drive us to Deb’s whilst grouchily reminding me of everything Michael said to us this morning. Finally, ten minutes away from Deb’s, I shut him up by pulling the car over and blowing him. After I’ve successfully gotten him off, I kiss him and warn, “Behave yourself.”

Brian looks at me expectantly, as though to ask,  _what’s in it for me?_ I kiss him again and promise softly, “I’ll make it  _very_ worth your while when we’re back at the hotel.”

This seems to placate him well enough. When we arrive at Deb’s, we walk in together hand-in-hand. Everyone’s waiting to start dinner. As Deb steals me away so she can bury me in a hug, Brian gravitates towards Daph and they start flirting with each other shamelessly. 

While I help Deb set dinner on the table, Michael approaches with Ben in tow. He sits down across from Brian and Daph and looks at me. “Justin, can you sit down?”

Deb nods at me. “Go ahead, honey. We’re all sorted.”

I sit down next to Daph and look at Michael expectantly. He glances between Brian and myself and says, ”Look, I was being unfair to you guys earlier. I shouldn’t have stuck my nose where it didn’t belong. Your marriage is yours - I’m sorry for assuming otherwise. It won’t happen again. I hope you can forgive me.”

 “Thank you, Michael.” I smile at him appreciatively, but he’s not focused on me - he’s fixated on Brian, who I can see is less than impressed.

There’s approximately ten terrible seconds of tense silence, then Brian grins brightly at Ben and says, “Good work, Professor. A lovely apology - one of your best, in fact. Very well scripted indeed.”

The stormclouds that were draped over Michael this morning return in abundance. Ben blushes slightly and smiles tightly at Brian. Before another fight can brew, Brian grabs Daphne by the arm and purrs, “Tell me all about the wonderful world of medicine, Dr. Chanders.”

*

Dinner continues on in that fashion. Brian remains glued to Daphne’s side for most of it, rarely straying unless spoken to by Deb, Ted, Blake, or Drew. Emmett comes to sit next to me and focuses on cheering me up, but it’s tough. Michael’s mood is even more rotten than it was this morning and he’s not afraid to show it. Despite Deb’s many warnings, he spends most of the meal glaring at Brian or scowling at me.

When Deb starts divvying up dessert, I excuse myself. My appetite is shot to shit; all I want is a cigarette. I resent Michael for it. Visits to Pittsburgh are supposed to be pleasant and enjoyable, not stressful as fuck with judgment being rained down upon me and Brian. It feels like acid rain, honestly. Does Michael realise that? Endlessly frustrated, I escape outside and lean against the outside wall facing the street. Relief floods through me as I light up and take my first drag. I close my eyes, savouring the sensation. It calms me right down - that is, until a hand suddenly taps my shoulder out of fucking nowhere. I jump almost ten feet high, then come face to face with Ben. 

 “Sorry,” he laughs. As I clutch my chest, he holds up my coat and explains gently, “I thought you might be cold.”

 “Thanks, mom,” I tease, laughing as he blushes a little. “I am a bit, actually.”

As I take the coat from him and slip into it, Ben leans against the wall and jokes, “I almost handed it to you over dinner. It was awfully chilly in there tonight.”

It almost sounds like he’s offering his sympathy. It can be hard to tell with Ben, given how calm and balanced he is. After this morning, I’d expected him to stick to fence-sitting. Now it seems like he’s leaning over to my side.

I look at him curiously. He smiles and edges a little closer to me. There’s an air of secrecy settling between us as he says, “I feel bad about this morning. I wanted to say something but I didn’t want to make matters worse.”

 “It would have been nice if you had,” I say, perhaps a little more sharply than Ben deserves. It was just so fucking frustrating - sitting there, listening to Michael’s sanctimonious lecture, while everyone else watched on without saying much of anything to defend us.

 “You know what they say about marriage,” Ben muses, “You have to pick your battles.”

I’m tempted to snap back that Brian and I don’t fight all that much (well – relatively speaking!), but then I’m sure Ben would just say ’you will’ or ‘give it time’, which would piss me off all the more. I don’t want to fight with Ben. I don’t want any of us to be fighting at all. Instead, I ask, “Is Michael aware of that adage?”

It comes out more cattily than I’d intended, but Ben doesn’t seem to mind.

 “Sometimes I wonder,” Ben says with a wry smile. “You two maintaining an open relationship... well, that’s certainly not a battle I would have picked.”

“It’s not a battle to be picked. It’s not a battle  _at all.”_

Ben nods, but it seems like a gesture offered to mollify me more than anything else. I take another soothing drag of my cigarette and then, with a renewed sense of calm, say, “I understand that our relationship is not for everyone. It never has been. I’ve seen more than my fair share of raised eyebrows over the years. To say it’s an ‘acquired taste’ would be an understatement of astronomical proportions.”

At that, Ben chuckles. I smile at him. “I’m used to being judged... I don’t like it, but I’m used to it. All I ask is that I get a break from that when I’m in the presence of family. Michael is family. He’s supposed to be someone I can trust.”

“I know,” Ben sighs. “Does it help if I apologise on his behalf?”

“A little,” I shrug. It’s nice to know Ben’s sympathetic. It makes me feel a lot less shitty about the whole situation. “You know, it’s not that I blame him for not liking the idea of an open marriage. He’s entitled to his opinion.”

“It’s the voicing of it that bothers you.”

“It’s the  _aggressive_ voicing of it,” I amend. “He was an asshole about it last night and an even bigger asshole this morning. I don’t understand why he feels entitled to-”

“He worries about you two,” Ben interjects softly. 

“There’s nothing to worry about!”

Shit. I’m running boiling hot and freezing cold, leaping carelessly between calm and pissed. Ben deserves better than that; after all, none of this is his fault. Luckily, my hair-trigger temper doesn’t seem to faze him. He offers me an understanding smile and says, ”I can see that. But Michael only gets to see you guys every so often, and it probably came as a shock that you were picking up other guys. He associates marriage with exclusivity.”

“Well, we don’t. I hate that he’s pushing your definition of marriage on us.” I stare at what remains of my cigarette then extinguish it against the wall. “And I’m sorry, but a part of me also hates having this conversation with you. I hate feeling as though I have to defend what we have to you or to anyone. We’re happy - isn’t that obvious? Isn’t that enough?”

“It ought to be,” Ben concedes. “But Michael’s not convinced. I guess he struggles with it because it’s so far removed from our idea of happiness. We couldn’t survive in an open marriage.”

“Well, we can. And we’re not just ‘surviving’... I think we’re thriving. Like Blake said, it’s all about honesty and equality. We have plenty of that. We have it in droves.”

Ben nods, a gentle look of understanding lighting his face. I smile at him. I don’t want to offer much more than I already have - any more might feel like I’m trying to defend us, when that’s not what I want to do. So all I say is, “What Michael saw last night... it’s not the sum of us. It’s just a part, and a relatively small part at that. It’s something we enjoy.”

“Good,” Ben says, smiling at me. “Really, good for you guys. I’m happy for you.”

I nudge him with my elbow. “Thanks.”

Ben nudges back. “I’d be happier still if Brian weren’t trying to rile Michael up.”

With a groan, I ask, “What’s he doing now?”

“He’s all over Daphne. He might as well be holding up a giant billboard announcing that he prefers her company to Michael’s.”

That actually sounds par for the course. I look at Ben and ask, “When you say ‘all over her’, I assume you mean flirting, huddled conversations...?”

Ben nods. I grin at him. “That’s not him trying to rile Michael up... that’s just what they’re like. He and Daph are always all over each other.”

“Really?”

“That’s their MO,” I chuckle. “Although I’m sure Brian’s enjoying the collateral damage.”

Ben laughs. “Well, maybe we’ll have to wait until next time for them to patch things up. They seem pretty set on hating each other right now.”

He nods towards the front door. “Ready to go back in?”

“Sure.”

As we head in, he leans in and confides, “I was wrong.”

“About what?”

“I should talk to Michael. I’ll tell him to drop it - to leave the non-issue of non-monogamy be.” He smiles at me warmly. “Defending you two is a battle worth choosing.” 

*

Talking with Ben gets me thinking about what other battles might be worth choosing. Later that night, after Brian and I have finished fucking and he’s fallen off to sleep, I think about the rift between him and Michael. I don’t know if it can be mended, but it’s worth a shot. If not for Brian, then for the kids, who would be devastated if they knew we were all fighting. I can’t let Gus and J.R. fall victim to this feud. Something needs to be done. 

I decide to leave Brian be, as I know full well he’s not going to be responsive to any form of intervention at this point. While he’s busy dealing with Kinnetik’s Pittsburgh clients, I seek out Michael. He doesn’t look too happy to see me when I walk into his shop, but I greet him with a bright smile and ask him how it’s all going. That gets him chattering away about all the latest comics and his endless ideas for the shop. It’s nice to see this side of him again; Michael’s much easier to deal with without stormclouds surrounding him. He also stays well away from any discussion of Brian and I tricking, which is a huge relief. I’m still not entirely over everything he said, but as he guides me around the shop, I remind myself that it’s not the sum of him. Tricking isn’t the sum of me and Brian, and being a pedantic prude about tricking is not the sum of Michael. There’s a lot of really great parts that are worth sticking around for.

When he’s done with the tour, I open my satchel and show him the lunch I’ve brought from the diner. He lights up and closes up shop so we can sit together and eat. We avoid all mention of Brian, although I do catch Michael looking at my ring more than once. After the third pensive glance, I shoot him a smile and say, “I was thinking... maybe we could talk about doing another special edition of  _Rage.”_

His brow furrows. “I didn’t think you were still into that.”

“Of course I am. I still make up pages for Brian sometimes.”

He beams at me. “Really? Can I see them?”

“They’re kind of private,” I laugh. 

“Really? This from the guy who had J.T. blowing Rage on the cover?”

“Fair point,” I chuckle, leaning on top of the counter. Lowering my voice, I confide, “They’re more sentimental than sexy. Brian has them stashed away somewhere. But we could work on new ideas... maybe all three of us?”

Michael nods, although he seems a little dubious. I smile and suggest, “We could make time when we’re all here next. Or maybe you could come and visit us sometime. There’s this gallery I’d love to take you - I won’t spoil the surprise, suffice to say it’s run by several graphic novelists who are as geeky as you are.”

He pulls a face at me. I snicker. “I know you’d really like it. It’d be nice to go together. Maybe we’ll find some inspiration there.”

This is met with a full-blown grin. Michael’s response is glowingly enthusiastic: “That would be great. Maybe we could get Gus and J.R. and make it a dads-and-kids trip.”

“We’d love that. Although, you’ll need to wrangle Ben into babysitting while you, me, and Brian talk  _Rage.”_   I lean in close and, with a suggestive grin, I confide, _“_ I’m thinking this special edition needs to be sexier than ever. No kids allowed, you know?”

“No kids allowed,” Michael agrees, laughing. “Okay. We’ll start making plans.”

“Great.”

There’s a knock on the glass. We glance up from what remains of our lunch and see a gaggle of teenagers waiting not-so-patiently outside the door. I grin at Michael. “I’d better let you get back to it, Zephyr.”

“Thanks, J.T.” He smiles at me with immense warmth. “Can you grab the lock for me?”

“Sure.” I sling my satchel over my shoulder and head for the door. I unlock it and open it, stepping back to avoid getting trampled by the incoming stampede of kids. 

“Justin,” Michael calls, just as I’m about to leave. I turn and look at him. He smiles, a little sadly, and says, “Tell Rage that we miss the two of you here in Gayopolis.”

“I will,” I promise. His smile brightens a little; it’s filled with hope. I allow it to flood through me. Before I leave, I throw a grin over my shoulder at Michael, which he gladly returns. I don’t know if all of this can be mended, I don’t know if things will ever be what they were, but I do know that this was a battle worth choosing. That’s good enough for now.

**The End**


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